I take a last look in the mirror before i went out the backdoor, i’ve always hoped that i would see something else. My aunt always told me that i should love my body but sometimes it’s hard when it won’t love you back. I’ve never seen myself as pretty but i would say i have have some good traits, my marked high cheekbones, my long legs great for running and my deep sea blue eyes. the rest of it is just not pretty, or that’s at least what society thinks. Before the war i had been a little chubby, i tried to starve it away. When i think back on it now, i feel foolish. because now none of us have food enough. I seattle up on my motorbike, and lay my hand on my thigh, yup the gun is still there. I look over the city, it’s not the beautiful tourist attraction it used to be, old beautiful, green, peaceful London. I run my bruised hand over my head, when i was just 13 i was punished for kissing a girl in my class i liked, the teacher that saw us called me a freak and called the police. The gays are like a secret club now that wanders the city, i’ve heard they’re in sweden at the moment , i wish to travel to sweden in not very long, the war is not too bad over there and all sexualities are accepted. well the police meant that shaving my head and throw me on the street was punishment enough since i was only 13, i was lucky some people get killed or get in jail. And i decided to keep my hair short because it’s practical and badass. My parents both got killed in the war when it started, some bastard lighted my house on fire while i was over at my friend. And shortly after the World announced a world war 3 over the TV, and that must have been in.. i count my fingers, 5 years ago. oh wow. i start my motorbike and drive. Most of london is just ashes and empty or burned down buildings, but i’ve managed to find an old movie theater that’s not already taken by other street teenagers.